


scanned the skies with rainbow eyes

by imminentinertia



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Day At The Beach, Evakteket Challenge, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Summer, Summer storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 22:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia
Summary: He closes his eyes for a while, listening to the gentle whooshing sounds the waves make on the wet sand. The seagulls and the geese squawk a little and from afar he can hear a child laughing.He can also hear the soft padding of feet on the sand. Not goose feet, human ones. Close by.





	scanned the skies with rainbow eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milaplant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milaplant/gifts).



> Written for the [Evakteket Summer Challenge 2018](https://evakteket.tumblr.com/post/172756976042/are-you-ready-for-summer-we-here-at-evakteket-are). My prompts: beach, summer storm and bare feet.
> 
> This one is for Milaplant. I hope you enjoy this fluffy beach trip Oslo style ♥

 

Dark clouds are hanging ominously low over the city. It’s hot as fuck, a thunderstorm has been looming for days and everybody’s short-tempered and stroppy and sweaty and there’s dry yellowish dust on every surface, but today looks like the day Oslo will finally get some sorely needed rain after a couple of weeks of uncharacteristically hot sun.

The thing is, Even has a day off and he knows that when it rains in the city it often stays sunny on the tiny islands in the fjord.

He’s been taking a lot of shifts at work because two of his co-worker came down with summer colds and he’s sick of working the steam wand in the muggy coffee shop. He’s sick of opening all the windows in his flat and barely getting enough of a breeze to even slightly move his curtains. He’s sick of never feeling completely clean, of working up new, sticky sweat mere minutes after washing himself all over. He’ll take his chance on the islands and go to the beach. To be honest, he’s not really troubled by the idea of a bit of rain while he’s swimming.

He doesn’t bother with a shower, just makes a few sandwiches, fills his thermos with the cold brew coffee which is the only caffeine he can stand in this heat, throws a towel and his trunks into his daypack along with his lunch and sets off. Halfway down the stairs he remembers sunscreen and runs back to get it, impatient to get away. He regrets his hurry immediately, wheezing and sweating in the stale air in his building.

The tram ride down to the ferries is a sticky nightmare. His thin, loose linen shorts cling to every bit of skin they can find, his cotton t-shirt feels sweatlogged. Getting out of the tram is hardly better, the air just as warm and still outside as in. He stops to buy cigarettes and a couple of papers and a few bottles of water, nearly deciding to permanently move to the store’s fridge.

And then, finally, the ferry pier, the ferry to Langøyene is the first to show up so he gets on that. Sea air. Wind lifting his t-shirt from his back and drying his skin.

There’s only a handful of other passengers, the forecast and the dark clouds discouraging most, but about halfway to the island they leave the clouds behind, as he counted on. He sits in the prow on the upper deck, feeling his dark mood getting left behind along with the mugginess of the city.

The other passengers mostly veer off once they’ve all left the ferry, on their way to their cabins or the boats they have moored here. He stops to pull his t-shirt off, then makes his way to the long beach on the other side of the island. There are quite a few geese there as usual, and a few swimmers, but he finds a spot away from both birds and people. He dumps his daypack on the sand and barely bothers to wrap his towel around him before taking his shorts and boxer off and putting his trunks on. There’s nobody close enough to really get an eyeful, but still.

The water is pure bliss, after the initial shock of _cold cold fucking hell cold_ because his skin is so hot. He swims lazily for a while, keeping an eye out for lion’s mane jellyfish, but the sea’s rather too warm for them, really.

Going alone to the beach isn’t something he does often. He feels a bit awkward without the social padding of friends, but there was no way he could spend this day in the city parks or in his tiny stifling flat where you can’t get a decent breeze through the one and only room even with both windows wide open. He felt a headache coming on when he woke up, but now it’s gone, his skin feels like it fits him again and everything feels fantastic.

He’s almost euphoric after his swim, stretching out on his towel. He has ice cold delicious coffee and papers and blessed fresh air and he doesn’t feel overheated and testy anymore. He pours himself a cup and opens one of the papers, disagreeing mildly with the breeze about when to turn a page.

A while later his shoulders are getting warm, not in the “you’re in the sun and everything is fine” way, but in the “your skin is getting far too many UV rays” way.

He loathes sunscreen. It sticks in the hairs on his legs and it always smells cloyingly coconut-y sweet, but he valiantly starts putting it on, only swearing a little.

The swearing escalates when he realises that he can’t reach all of his own back.

See, this is why you don’t go to the beach alone. You go with some friend or girlfriend or boyfriend who can do your back. At least he manages his own shoulder blades and his lower back, but he’s certain he’ll get a really weird sunburn-blob in the middle.

It will just have to do, and he lies back down on his stomach and continues to read.

Yeah, bliss.

He closes his eyes for a while, listening to the gentle whooshing sounds the waves make on the wet sand. The seagulls and the geese squawk a little and from afar he can hear a child laughing. Even the sounds of the island are soothing, unlike the impatient buzz of the overheated city.

He can also hear the soft padding of feet on the sand. Not goose feet, human ones. Close by.

Well, it sounds like just one person, and as long as it’s not an asshole who’s going to blast the beach with his tinny phone speaker music it’s fine. He keeps his face buried in the paper, but glances to the side as the footsteps move past him.

It’s a young, fit, dark blond guy in jean shorts, carrying his flip-flops and t-shirt in one hand and a bag in the other, walking slowly and obviously looking for a good spot. He has broad shoulders and nice long legs, and Even allows himself a few moments of appreciation, before going back to hermit mode and his paper.

The next time he looks up, the guy has settled some distance away and is changing with a towel wrapped around him, just like Even did. However, the guy glances Even’s way and their eyes meet, and the guy promptly loses his balance and topples over in the sand, the towel flapping away to reveal maroon swimming trunks, waist band around his thighs, genitals swinging.

Oh dear.

It’s such a trainwreck that Even can’t look away. The guy finishes pulling on his trunks while lying on his back on the ground, angrily tugging them - and a great amount of sand - over his hips, then he impressively jumps up with what looks like a kind of martial arts move, throws Even a really dirty look over his shoulder before stomping off into the water, sand and gravel trickling gently out of his trunks legs as he moves.

It occurs to Even that maybe it isn’t so wise to come across as a creep to an obviously fit guy who may have a temper. Come to think of it, maybe it’s not fine to come across as a creep even if the guy hadn’t seemed strong and agile. Actually, it’s not okay to act like a creep and there’s no denying that was what Even just did.

Blushing, he turns on his back and hides his face under the paper while pretending to still read it.

The strain of holding his paper up in the air turns very uncomfortable very quickly, so he turns on his side - away from the guy - just as the guy returns to his towel. Oh well. They’ll be beach neighbours for a few hours, Even won’t be creepy again and everything will be fine.

-0-

A hand on his shoulder shakes Even awake and he abruptly sits up, head swimming for a moment.

His beach neighbour is squatting next to him, looking a little concerned.

“Sorry, but it looked like you fell asleep. It’s not good to sleep in the sun, so...”

Even did indeed fall asleep, no wonder after all the tossing and turning in a too-hot bed in a too-hot flat for so many too-hot nights, and the guy is absolutely right.

“Thanks. Owe you one.”

The guy gives Even a little salute and a friendly grin as he gets up. It seems like he’s forgiven Even his ogling, thank God.

Even tries not to stare - again - as the guy walks back to his spot. His trunks fit him quite nicely. Quite nicely indeed. Especially when he bends over to straighten his towel before lying down on his stomach.

But this won’t do at all. This isn’t the Homolulu beach, for fuck’s sake. This is a nice family-friendly beach. He’s not even on the nudist part of the island, not that being there would excuse ogling.

Even briskly folds his newspaper, which apparently ended up under him when he fell asleep and is now a crumpled mess, gets up and strides back into the water. A nice long swim helps to cool his head, and various other parts of him.

When he gets back and wipes his eyes, however, the guy is sitting up, rubbing sunscreen on those beautifully muscled arms.

Even nearly groans. This guy must have been sent to torment him. At least if he’d gone to Homolulu he could have found someone to get off with. It’s been too long, honestly, if the sight of a good-looking man efficiently and unsexily covering himself with sunscreen gets him going like this.

Then again, the one time he did go to Homolulu he didn’t actually do anything with anybody, he just hid behind his sunglasses and covered his naked lap with a paper, sneaking glances at the middle-aged men going into the undergrowth. He fled after less than an hour.

He concentrates on drying off and definitely not looking over at the guy, until he does, and the guy is trying to rub sunscreen on his back, with not much success. He’s not quite as flexible as Even, it seems, and can’t reach as much of his back. That fair skin surely gets as burned as Even’s does.

Before his brain has had a say, his feet are on their way over.

“Hey, I can help you with that? Maybe?”

The guy stops and stares up at Even.

“Um. As a thank you for waking me? It looks like you can’t reach very well…”

Even trails off, feeling sillier by the second. What a fucked up thing to do, just saunter up to a hot stranger and offer to put lotion on him. Suntan lotion, but still. This is a guy who just had an embarrassing wardrobe failure right in front of him, for fuck’s sake, while Even _stared at his dick_.

Suddenly the guy gets up and hands Even the bottle.

“That would be great, actually.”

He turns around, white smears on his shoulders and lower back. Even determinedly looks at his head.

“I don’t go to the beach alone a lot, didn’t realise this would be so difficult.”

Even has to smile at the curls at the back of the guy’s head.

“Me neither. I mostly managed, I think, but it was fucking annoying.”

He squeezes some lotion on the guy’s shoulder.

“Hhaaaah!”

“Oh, sorry! Cold?”

“A bit.”

The tense muscles in the guy’s back loosen up under Even’s hand, though, as he tries to cover it with sunscreen in the most un-creepy and professional way possible. It’s very difficult not to notice that it’s a nice back, unfortunately. The guy is a little shorter than Even and he’s not quite as slender, but he’s not bulky, just gorgeously defined. _Gorgeously_.

_Focus, Even._

“There you go, all protected!”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he feels like kicking himself. Please no, no innuendos. Or words that can be interpreted as really bad and unfunny innuendos if you’re really reaching. Not now, brain.

The guy turns around and takes his bottle back, smiling at Even. He has little gaps between his teeth. Adorable little gaps.

“Thanks for coming to the rescue. Want me to do you?”

It takes Even a moment to recover. The guy doesn’t mean _do_ do. He very definitely does  _not_ mean _do_ do.

Thankfully, it seems like Even isn’t the only one whose mind headed straight for the gutter, because the guy’s cheeks turn pink.

“Uh, your back. Put sunscreen on your back. If you’d like me to.”

It’s honestly a relief that he’s a little flustered too. Even feels a little less like your friendly neighbourhood pervert as he thanks the guy and turns around. He’s just about to go get his own bottle from his daypack when he’s hit between the shoulderblades with cold wetness.

“Shit!”

“Oh, sorry! It’s cold, I know.”

“A bit,” Even presses out between gritted teeth.

A warm hand follows the cold splash, smoothing the sunscreen over his skin.

“You’re getting a little red just here.”

A fingertip, probably, draws a circle on Even’s back.

“But you’ve got good reach, it’s just a small patch.”

For a split second Even feels proud of his flexibility, but immediately he’s terrified that the guy will deem his back properly taken care of and stop touching him.

Thankfully, the hand keeps sliding over him, all the way up to his neck and down to the waistband of his trunks and across his ribs.

“There you go, now you’re all protected too.”

Even turns back, and when he sees the guy’s smile he can’t help smiling back, as wide as his face will let him.

“Thanks. I’m Even, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Isak.”

They shake hands, Isak even giving Even a tiny bow, topped off with one sardonically raised eyebrow.

“I owe you one again, it seems.”

Isak laughs a little.

“Keep an eye out for when  _I_ fall asleep, then.”

Suddenly there’s not much more to say, so Even finds himself just hovering awkwardly. He has to mumble something that hopefully sounds friendly and not-sinister and walk the ten metres back to his own towel.

It’s only when he stoops to brush some sand off his towel that inspiration hits.

“Hey, Isak?” he shouts.

Isak, sitting cross-legged on his towel, looks up with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s a danger of you falling asleep, maybe you need coffee?”

Even triumphantly holds up his thermos, wiggling it a little.

Isak’s face splits into a wide smile.

“You’re a fucking hero, you are!”

Never before has Even been more grateful for his parents giving him a nice big thermos for his birthday one year. He’s only had one cup, there’s plenty for Isak.

It’s only when he sits down in the warm sand beside Isak he realises that he’s only got one cup, the one that’s part of the thermos.

“Uh… do you mind sharing the cup?”

“No, it’s fine. Unless you have any horrible diseases.”

Isak is still smiling. Good.

“Nah, no ebola that I know of.”

Oh God. Ebola of all things. Maybe he should be thankful for not starting to babble about gonorrhea. He fills the cup and hands it to Isak, who practically has stars in his eyes. He must really like his coffee and have had far too little today. Isak takes a swig, freezes and stares at the cup.

“Um, it’s cold?”

Shit. He probably expected the usual Coffee The Way Norwegians Do ItTM, hot filtered coffee maker stuff. Not this.

“Er, yes. I make cold brew. Much better in this heat, I think. Sorry…”

“No, no, it’s fine. It tastes really good. Just didn’t expect it.”

Isak takes a more careful sip, keeps it in his mouth a little before swallowing, his Adam’s apple moving mesmerisingly up, then down.

“It’s seriously good. I’ve had iced coffee, you know with milk and sugar and stuff, but this is better. I like my coffee black.”

He tips his head back, emptying the cup, long neck on display. Even lets out his breath and accepts the empty cup back, refills it.

“So, you’re a coffee nerd? With cold brew and all? Is it floral notes I can taste?”

Isak is grinning and raising one eyebrow again, and he’ll be the death of Even if he continues sitting around being effortlessly stunning with his _arms_ and his _neck_ and his _collarbones_ and his _teeth_ and _teasing_ Even.

Strangely, Even continues to survive, even through getting his things and lying down next to Isak, even through sharing the cup until the coffee is gone and through eating their sandwiches together. Isak trades him an apple for a cigarette, and seeing as Even has a full pack of cigarettes and Isak has several apples, they keep sharing both. When the talk gets around to music and Even discovers that there are unforgivable holes in Isak’s references, he even survives playing DMX on his phone for Isak, horrible tinny sound be damned.

Each time they go for a swim, together, Isak pushes his wet hair back as he gets back on dry land, sea water dripping from the hair in his armpits and trickling in tiny streams down his stomach, making little swirls in the hair on his legs. As if a dry Isak isn’t bad enough for Even’s heart rate.

Not to mention that Isak insists on sunscreen application after each dip in the sea.

Isak’s hand on his neck, between his shoulder blades, close to his waistband. Each time.

-0-

They get drowsy in the afternoon sun, the talking trailing off and picking up again, like the waves rolling in and out. Even lies on his back with his dayback under his neck, watching the waves and the gulls, warm but not too warm.

If he stuck out his little finger he could probably touch Isak’s hand.

He has Lou Reed singing softly in his head, and hums a little along with it.

Isak moves, pops into view, sunglasses off.

“Speaking of drugs…”

What.

“Drugs?”

“Yeah, drugs. It’s Perfect Day you’re humming, right?”

“Er, yes. Where do drugs come into it?”

Isak rolls his eyes.

“Perfect Day is about heroin, didn’t you know?”

“It’s about his great summer day with his girlfriend! Boyfriend! Somebody! Sangria and a movie!”

Isak rolls his eyes again. It shouldn’t be charming.

“Oh you innocent being. It’s about how heroin keeps him hanging on.”

“What, seriously, no really!”

“Yes really. A housemate told me once, showed me lyrics annotations and all. She was miffed because she’d thought it was about STDs, you know, a date and then you’re gonna reap what you sow... Anyway, I was going to ask you if you smoke. Green stuff.”

Ah.

Technically, Even doesn’t. It’s been almost a year since the last time. His friends don’t offer him weed because they know it can fuck with his meds, but the few times since school he’s smoked it’s gone well. If Isak has weed and would like to share, surely it can’t do much harm.

“Yeah. You got some?”

Isak gives him that big lovely grin again.

“I do, and conveniently there are no other people nearby. Wanna smoke?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Isak turns to rummage in his bag.

“It’s flattering that you sing Perfect Day right now believing it’s about a great date, by the way. Ah, there it is. Now, where’s the lighter...”

Even can feel his cheeks heat up. He honestly didn’t mean to make the song about Isak, and what does it even mean that Isak is casual about it and takes it as a compliment? Is he joking? Or is he serious, underneath the joke? Would he have liked to be a great date for Even?

He’s jolted out of his thoughts as Isak hands him the blunt, carefully avoiding touching his fingers. Maybe not carefully avoiding it, maybe just carefully giving Even the blunt.

Sometimes Even wishes that everybody would just walk around with handy signs stating their level and type of interest in the persons they interact with. Like, Isak’s sign could show “you’re fun to talk to but we’ll never meet again after today”, or “I’d like to be your best friend”, or “can we please fuck each other through convenient walls as soon as possible”.

They smoke in silence, and the weed is exactly right for the blissful state Even is already in. Sometimes their fingers touch when the joint changes hands. You’d think that after having had Isak’s hands on his back, a number of times, just the tiny brush of a fingertip wouldn’t cause little electrical currents down Even’s spine, but it does. He doesn’t think he can blame the weed either. It has to be all Isak.

Isak puts the blunt out and buries it in the sand, before sitting up and taking a long swallow from his water bottle. Even looks at a goose taking a nap a few metres away, its beak hidden in its feathers. He looks at someone fishing out on the strip of land jutting into the sea some distance away. He looks up at the sky. He doesn’t look at Isak’s long neck working while he drinks.

It’s still sunny, the clouds forming a neat line close to the sun and going darker and darker towards the city.

“It’s weird, isn’t it, how it can piss down in the city while the sun is still shining out here? It’s not far at all.”

“It’s probably the evaporation from the sea, the warm damp air coming up against the cold front where the thunder clouds form. I’m not an expert, but it seems plausible.”

Even has nothing to say to that. His knowledge of nature isn’t all that great, but Isak squints calmly at the sky, looking as if theorising about weather phenomena using fancier wording than “fuck, it’s hot” or “fuck, it’s cold” is perfectly normal for him.

Talking about the weather jinxes it. Suddenly it gets colder and darker and the wind picks up. The storm from the city has arrived, no doubt about it, and Even barely has time to take off his sunglasses and look up to confirm it before the first fat drop of rain hits him right in the eye.

Cursing and blinking, both he and Isak scramble to gather their belongings and stuff everything into their packs, giggling and a little unsteady on their feet from the weed. Isak is first to take off in the direction of the pier, barefoot, turning as he runs and yelling back:

“ _Come on, man!_ ”

It’s some sort of miracle that he doesn’t fall again, running backwards on the uneven ground. Even sprints after him, cold rain pelting him and everybody else fleeing the beach to look for shelter, under the trees or back at the pier where there’s a roof over some of the benches.

Isak veers to the left before he reaches the pier, though, claiming a particularly plump oak, the ground under it perfectly dry. Even catches up with him, leaning against the tree trunk, panting and laughing. He feels like he’s soaring. He grins at others going past at full speed, arms full of beach toys and books and sunscreen, towels flapping behind them, grinning back. It always amazes him how a bit of a rain storm brings this out in people, the sort of cheerful oh-well-we’re-soaked-through-anyway companionship with strangers.

Isak is right next to him, so close that Even can feel him brushing against the small hairs on Even’s arms, still chuckling.

He’s  _right there_.

He’s gorgeous and close and he seems to like Even, and droplets of water are clinging to his collarbone, and his bouncy curly hair is soaked and flat and he brushes it out of his eyes with long, elegant fingers, looking up at Even and grinning. He’s saying something but Even isn’t even listening, about petri-something, core-something? Petri dishes, seriously? Even can’t concentrate.

How the fuck can he be _right there_ and this beautiful and _wet_ and in the same universe as Even.

His chest feels tight, constricted, he can’t see anything but Isak’s face, his beautiful green eyes, his lips. He can’t hear the rain anymore, the only sound in his ears is the beating of his own heart, fast and hard.

He doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he’s already put his mouth on Isak’s.

Oh shit, what the hell is wrong with him. He’s been creepy and clingy and weird around this guy all day and now he’s gone and _kissed_ him. He pulls back with a gasp, mind racing for apologies, excuses, anything.

But Isak follows him.

Isak puts his hand on his neck, in his wet hair, and kisses _him_.

-0-

The air in Even’s flat is staler than ever, it seems. He has urgent business with the beautiful guy standing in his hallway, business that includes more kisses after the ones under the oak and in the pier shelter while they got dressed, sadly without Isak losing his balance while dealing with the towel and his shorts. However, he has to go around flinging every window open first, letting in the breeze and the fresh smell of the wet city.

He spares a regretful thought to the mess he never seems to be able to rid himself of, the notebooks and loose sheets of paper on every flat surface, last night’s dishes, the clothes in the laundry pile and those in the ‘can be worn once more before laundering’ pile on his bedroom floor. He has no time to tidy any of it. He needs to get his mouth on Isak’s again.

On their way to the bed they stumble over the pile of clean laundry to be put away, and Even accidentally knocks his tablet and an empty glass off the chair that serves as a nightstand, but nothing breaks and everything’s good. Their trunks and t-shirts make another pile beside the bed.

The weed has worn off, he thinks, but he still feels like he’s flying. Is it possible to be so horny and so happy that you feel high? Can you get high from the smell of the sea on the warm skin of a beautiful man?

Can you get addicted to having the skin of a beautiful man under your hands?

Is being naked with a beautiful man, _this_ beautiful man, on your bed with the sound and smell of rain all around you, the best drug you could ever have?

Even wants to fit all of Isak into his mouth to taste him as well as touch him, every square centimetre of him, but that’s not possible. He can have Isak’s tongue in his mouth, though. He can press his lips and his tongue to Isak’s collarbone and nipple and the soft skin on his stomach, and he can fit most of Isak’s dick in his mouth.

He should use a condom, but his condoms are actually in the small bowl in the hallway where he puts his keys, not on his nightstand-chair, and God only knows why they’re in the key bowl. He doesn’t have time to get them. He’s busy filling his mouth with Isak, tasting Isak’s skin and precome, listening to Isak’s heavy, uneven breathing, feeling Isak’s hands lightly touch his head. There’s warmth and weight and salt on his tongue. He’s too excited to call this bliss, but surely it has something to do with the meaning of life.

A sharp tug at his hair and a tight voice saying “Even” is a clear enough signal for him to pull off and use his hand instead, grieving a little for the taste of Isak’s come and promising himself he’ll do practically anything to get to where they’re tested and trust each other and swallowing can happen. He makes do with keeping as close as he can as Isak tenses under his hands and the come is driven out of him, white streaks on his own stomach.

Even wants to lick it off him, so badly.

He doesn’t really have time to dwell on Isak’s come, because Isak slithers down the bed, hugging Even to him, panting into his ear.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m fine with you calling me Even, actually.”

Why is it that Isak’s very presence seems to utterly fuck up the filters that normally make sure what’s going on in Even’s brain is censored somewhat so not _everything_ finds it way out of his mouth?

Isak laughs a little, thankfully, and then he buries his face in Even’s neck and grabs hold of Even’s dick.

Sparks. Fireworks. Earth moving. The whole show.

Isak is still panting against his neck, still coming down, and not really doing anything to Even. He just holds Even’s dick and that’s almost enough in itself.

Then he tightens his grip and starts moving his hand.

All Even can do is breathe in the smell of sea and sun and a little sweat in Isak’s hair, and lie very, very still. His thighs are trembling against Isak’s and he doesn’t know where to put his hands, one arm has ended up under Isak’s body so he puts that hand on Isak’s back. The other hand ends up in his own hair, clutching it and concentrating hard staves off his orgasm.

A little, at least.

His blood races through his veins and he can’t hear, can’t think, can’t _do_ anything but gasp against Isak’s hair and feel how it’s building, too soon and not soon enough. Isak is lying on top of his own arm and his tugs are short and a bit irregular, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough. Even tenses and the roar of his own blood fills his ears, it seems to take both forever and just a few moments before he comes, the waves of it rolling through him.

Once he gets his breath back and can open his eyes again, the first thing he sees is Isak smiling at him, mouth closed, eyes warm. Even can’t help himself, he has to boop Isak’s nose and is rewarded with a wider smile.

This can’t be just a one-off. Even won’t let it. He’ll stalk the shit out of this guy if he has to. Or just convince him, un-creepily, to stay for dinner. And breakfast. And dinner again.

As they sort out their arms and find more comfortable positions next to each other, he has some thoughts about what kind of boyfriend he would make himself and what kind of dark secrets and awful habits Isak may have, but all such obstacles seem insignificant now. Sure, that may be his post-orgasmic elation talking, but he can’t remember ever wanting to get to know someone this badly. He wants to touch Isak and talk to him and listen to him and never stop. He wants movie nights and hand-holding in public and meeting Isak’s friends and making Isak the perfect black coffee.

He wants to keep saying weird shit to Isak and see Isak smile at him with gappy teeth and deep dimples.

Even licks his lips, dry from breathing through his mouth when he even remembered to breathe earlier, and says exactly what’s on his mind.

“Can we just stay here forever?”

Isak looks at him and lifts his hand to gently stroke Even’s neck.

“We can.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Even and Isak are at [Langøyene](https://www.visitoslo.com/en/product/?TLp=181564), which is a lovely place to spend a warm summer day in Oslo.
> 
> Lots of thanks to lovely [Alene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alene/pseuds/Alene) who betaed this, and to [nofeartina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina) who had a look too ♥
> 
> Tumblr: [skamskada](https://skamskada.tumblr.com/). Come say hi, and tell me if you know which song the title is from ;)


End file.
